


Spooky Prompts Bingo

by ros3bud009



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Drabble Collection, Each Chapter Will List Specific Tags/Warnings, Harutemu's Spooky Prompts Bingo, It's an even split between fun/cute drabbles and dark drabbles, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-04 23:16:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16356161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ros3bud009/pseuds/ros3bud009
Summary: A collection of spooky-themed drabbles that were prompted to me. Will be a mixed bag of cute and dark. Each chapter will have at the top the prompt and the warnings relevant to it.Chapter 1: TFP KOBD with prompt "Zombie" (dark)Chapter 2: TFP KOBD with prompt "Zombie" (light-hearted)Chapter 3: G1 Optimus/Ratchet with prompt "Mask"





	1. KOBD "Zombie" Bad End

**Author's Note:**

> I decided I wanted to do Harutemu's Spooky Bingo that they posted over here:http://harutemu.tumblr.com/post/178250065667/october-is-coming-so-lets-get-the-fun-and-spooky
> 
> These drabbles were prompted by followers over on tumblr.
> 
> This chapter's prompt was KOBD with "Zombie" which actually turned into two separate drabbles which each took in a very different direction. This version is the bad end one and the next chapter will be the good end one.
> 
> Warnings: Character death, robot violence/gore, bad end

The pain was searing and Knock Out couldn’t have held back his scream if he had tried. Mandibles ripped into his chest plating, shrieking against the metal as they rended it all to pieces around the terrible tongue drilling straight through.

Through the plating and wiring and protective casing until it latched onto Knock Out’s energon pump, ripped open a hole, and  _sucked_.

Knock Out tried desperately to throw the terrorcon off, wailing brokenly between shrieks as he slapped and punched and kicked to no avail.

Breakdown had always been so big, large and powerful and dangerous in a fight, but Knock Out had always found comfort in that. Breakdown protected him.

Never had Knock Out fully realized the horror in that strength until it was crushing him into the floor to make it easier to kill him.

Primus.

Knock Out was dying.

Already the pain was easing and Knock Out knew that wasn’t good. His body was going numb as he was emptying.

The horror of that reality was overwhelming.

But the trajectory towards death slowed. It wasn’t clear why, not with how lightheaded Knockout felt. Not until he noticed big yellow optics staring at his.

The sucking had stopped. But the hole still remained, leaking energon into Knock Out’s chest cavity, and Knock Out realized he was weakly stammering Breakdown’s name like a plea.

And the terrorcon was looking at him, mandibles trying to fit themselves back together.

“Nnnn,” the terrorcon started, what little of its face that Knockout could comprehend twisting with confusion. “Nnnnaw – Naaaaw –ckk.”

Too late, Knockout realized there was moisture rolling down his face in thick lines and it wasn’t energon.

“Knaaawk Owwt?”

There wasn’t much energy left in Knockout’s frame – only what charge still lingered now that the energon was all but gone.

He was going to die. There was no stopping that.

Still, Knockout’s lips lifted as he raised a servo to what little remained of Breakdown’s cheek.

“There you are, darling. Just in time.” His voice was so weak that he would have been surprised if Breakdown could actually hear him. Still, Knockout swiped his thumb along the cold protoform.

Cold as a dead mech walking.

“I’ll be taking you with me.”

With all he had left, Knockout shifted his servo, and with a horrible rev and splatter the terrorcon’s helm was split by Knockout’s saw. The top half slid off with a sickening thunk against Knockout’s chest.

Knockout’s servo dropped to his side, numb and deactivated and drained of all energon and charge alike.

The terrorcon’s frame was still at least.

And then it wasn’t.

The tongue – that terrible tongue – rose from the sparking, dripping gore of what remained of the terrorcon’s helm, and a low hungry groan rose from its frame.

Knockout frowned.

“Frag.”


	2. KOBD "Zombie" Good End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Obviously this whole terrorcon business has changed him. He’s a little slower and not nearly so talkative. And, well.”
> 
> Starscream lifted an optic ridge.
> 
> “He’s an energon-thirsty terrorcon.”  
> \-------------------  
> KOBD with the prompt "Zombie" but this time it's silly instead of dark.
> 
> Warnings: Some references to sexual activities/consent issues, but nothing on screen and it's handled lightly

“Can I ask you something?”

Starscream looked up from his datapad, energon cube still in his other servo and against his lips, leaving him no time to reject the question outright before Knockout slipped into the seat across from him in the cafeteria.

‘Refueling Center’ officially but they weren’t all daft enough to believe it was anything but a cafeteria.

One look at Knockout’s determined expression made it clear that “No” wasn’t going to be enough.

“Aren’t you busy keeping an eye on your… assistant?” Starscream settled on as he looked across the room to where the large terrorcon stood aimlessly. Tamed, for all intents and purposes, but it was clear he mostly hobbled around by almost solely instinct.

Knockout shrugged and waved a dismissive servo, not even bothering to look over his shoulder at his monstrous pet.

“He’s fine. He’s capable of feeding himself.”

The terrorcon stilled, jaw unhinging and mandibles spreading and releasing his pronged tongue before he started to lumber towards one of the energon dispensers. The vehicon that had been using it took one look at him and turned tail, fleeing the cafeteria altogether.

“That said, it  _is_ about Breakdown. I wanted your opinion on something I’ve been thinking about.”

Starscream sneered as he lifted his energon to sip at it again. Across the way, ‘Breakdown’ had grasped the energon dispenser with both servos, shrieked, and his tongue – long mouth? Proboscis? – pierced right through the side of it.

“Do you now?”

Knockout barreled through the sarcasm, saying, “Obviously this whole terrorcon business has changed him. He’s a little slower and not nearly so talkative. And, well.”

Starscream lifted an optic ridge.

“He’s an energon-thirsty terrorcon.”

Loud slurping and gurgling noises permeated the whole cafeteria.

“Yes,” Knockout admitted with a tired sigh, “ _that._  But he’s been better since I removed Silas. He recognizes me at least, and he’s slowly learning how to communicate again. I’m sure once we’re over that hurdle, things will only continue to improve. He’s a terrorcon, but Breakdown’s in there too.”

A vehicon took one step towards the energon dispenser and Breakdown removed his face long enough to  _hiss_ at him, sending the vehicon shrieking and scrambling away.

“I’m sure,” Starscream said flatly. He lifted a servo, gesturing as he said, “Listen, just – get to your point, Knockout. I’d like to return to my fuel so I can finish it before that pet of yours starts humping the energon dispenser.”

Knockout pressed his lips together before, slowly, saying, “Yes, well, about that…”

Starscream didn’t bother to hide the disgust that twisted his face as he glanced from Knockout’s abashed expression and the monstrosity that was ‘Breakdown’ snuffling as it drained the dispenser. “No.  _No._  You can _not_ be discussing anything of the sort in regards to  _that_ –”

“I know, I know, it’s bad, but  _listen_. Yesterday it became clear he still holds certain  _affections_ for me, and—sure, yes, he’s not exactly in the best state of mind to consent–”

“No, no,  _no_!” Starscream shrieked as he nearly tripped over his own pedes to get up from his seat.

“But listen! Just because he’s a little slow doesn’t mean he shouldn’t be allowed to fulfill certain desires–!”

“SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!”

It was sheer chance that, in his panic to find an escape route, Starscream looked in ‘Breakdown’s’ direction. The terrorcon had finally dragged its segmented maw from the dispenser, energon glowing and dripping from between those terrible mandibles and that  _tongue_ —

Worst of all though were the optics.

There was recognition there. Thought and emotion, regardless of how simple it all must have been.

“See? You can see what I’m saying!”

Starscream turned towards Knockout, wings flicked out wide and angry, as he spat, “I don’t care what you do, just  _don’t_ , under  _any_ circumstances, tell me  _anything_ about it.”

Knockout’s optics were wide as he blinked.

“Ah. Alright. So then… does that mean you think it’s alright?”

Starscream was fairly certain if his optic ridges lifted any higher they’d fly right off his face. He glanced at Breakdown who – well, in certain circumstances you might consider it a smile, grotesque mandibles and oozing energon notwithstanding.

And Knockout, the mad man, was nothing if not sincere.

“The two of you clearly deserve each other,” Starscream sneered before turning on his heels and making his escape.

Still, there was no escaping the way Breakdown’s loud purring and trilling echoed behind him.


	3. G1 Optimus/Ratchet "Mask"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You didn’t come looking for First Aid to avoid me, did you?”  
> “Of course not.”  
> Ratchet huffed irritably.  
> “You’re a bad enough liar as is, Optimus. You don’t really think I’ll buy that when you’re bare-faced, do you?”  
> \--------------  
> G1 Optimus/Ratchet with the prompt "Mask." This one isn't actually spooky but listen. These things happen.
> 
> Warnings: Allusions to sexual acts, specifically face-sitting, but nothing on screen

“Ah. Ratchet.” The CMO looked up from where he was cleaning some equipment and Optimus’s processor stalled. “You’re, uh. You’re here.”

“Yes?” Ratchet replied, clearly confused and his optics already scanning Optimus from across the room, looking for answers.

Scrap.

“What I meant,” Optimus began, “is that according to the shift schedule, you should be off.”

Confusion was quickly turning to suspicion as Ratchet placed the rag in his servos down on the table.

“First Aid wanted to swap so he could be off shift with the rest of his team.” He took a step back from the work bench and towards Optimus, and while still across the med bay from Optimus, the desire to take an equal step away was very real. “Though I can’t imagine why you would have bothered to check, Optimus.” Another couple of steps and the urge to retreat only grew harder to resist.

The too calm expression on Ratchet’s face didn’t match the way his optics brightened even as they narrowed, looking more like a turbowolf stalking prey than a medic. Certainly there were times when it sent a pleasant tingle down Optimus’s spine, but this was not one of them.

There was no stopping the inevitable, yet Optimus still kept his mouth shut as Ratchet stood right in front of him.

“You didn’t come looking for First Aid to avoid  _me_ , did you?”

“Of course not.”

Ratchet huffed irritably.

“You’re a bad enough liar as is, Optimus. You don’t really think I’ll buy that when you’re bare-faced, do you?”

Optimus shifted his weight and desperately wished he could hide his abashed expression behind his battle mask. The urge was so strong that, in fact, his battle mask nearly snapped across his face again, and he had to manually stop it.

Ratchet’s optics zeroed in instantly.

“What’s wrong with your mask?”

“All I need is some paint stripper and I’ll be on my way.”

“Optimus.”

“You have work to do and I can handle it alone.”

“ _Optimus_.”

Finally, after a long moment, Optimus ex-vented as he palmed his face.

“It’s a harmless prank and nothing more. Once it’s cleaned up I will speak with them about the consequences of their actions.”

A second passed, and then another.

When Optimus dared to look down at Ratchet again, it was to see the medic fuming.

“Let me see it.”

“Ratchet–”

“If you want so desperately to keep me from seeing what those hellions did to your battle mask, then  _clearly_ I need to see it.”

Optimus finally did step back only to find the med bay door shut. No doubt it was locked too.

Ratchet stepped in closer, backing Optimus against an unyielding exit, so close they were only just barely not touching.

And, inexplicably, Optimus recalled why he had fallen for his old friend.

“I really can’t convince you to leave it be.”

“No, you can’t.”

With a sigh of defeat, Optimus let his mask slide shut. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker never did any prank by half measure, so Optimus knew that as the two halves locked together, the handwriting would still be messy but the paint was bright and held tight so as not to be rubbed away no matter how hard he tried, leaving the message clear.

[Hatchet’s Seat]

Ratchet blinked.

And blinked again.

And then burst out laughing.

Optimus sagged as his lover doubled over, servos grasping at Optimus’s frame to keep himself upright as he nearly made himself sick from the laughter.

Finally, after a full minute of almost composing himself before looking up at Optimus’s face and losing it again and again and again, Ratchet patted Optimus’s face as he took a deep in-vent.

“You know, it’s a real shame,” Ratchet managed as he grinned up at Optimus. The mirth was slowly easing down from its manic heights, but mischief followed behind as his servo grasped Optimus by the chin, tipping him one way and then the other to inspect the obscene graffiti. “All that fine work put in, but they made one glaring mistake.”

“Dare I ask what you mean?”

Ratchet’s engine purred as he pushed up onto the tips of his pedes, his chest pressing against Optimus’s while his ex-vent brushed across Optimus’s neck.

“Your battle mask isn’t what I sit on, is it?”

And, in one fell swoop, being so easily pinned and manipulated was exceedingly hot again.


	4. TFP/RID15 Ratchet with Ratchet/Optimus "Haunted"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet had lost everything for them and not a one of them knew or cared.
> 
> \----------------------
> 
> TFP/RID15 Ratchet with Optimus/Ratchet with the prompt "Haunted"
> 
> I may have accidentally just used this as an excuse to play with my Autobot Warlord Ratchet AU a bit oops
> 
> (please listen to Ciara's Paint It, Black it's practically required listening for this drabble)
> 
> Warnings: Some slight self-harm/self-drugging

It was wrong.

It was all so wrong.

Yet the mecha of Cybertron continued to pass him by on the street like everything was fine.

Beautiful young mecha fresh from the Allspark, bright and brilliant and smiling and laughing and ignorant of who gave them the chance to be forged at all—

Self-satisfied neutrals who had returned to Cyberton like they had any claim to it, grasping and possessive and dismissive of the energon spilt so they had a planet to return to at all—

And they all called themselves ‘Autobots’ despite doing nothing to deserve it.

Ratchet had lost everything for them and not a one of them knew or cared. They didn’t know how every evening, when Ratchet had finally worked himself to exhaustion, recharge was still slow to take him as he was haunted by the memory of his old friend, his Prime, his  _lover_ , calmly explaining he was already one with the Allspark before disappearing into the depths of Cybertron, never to return to them, to return to  _Ratchet_ , all to save Cybertron and its people.

They didn’t know that in every sense but physical, Ratchet had started dying that day.

It had hurt until it had numbed. Until the days bled together into mindless moving through the motions.

But now—

Optimus had given up everything for Cybertron, and they dared to drag his name through the mud.

Optimus  _died_ for Cybertron, and they dared to scoff and say “He killed it in the first place.”

Optimus was dead, and they dared to try to forget him.

Ratchet burned with furious despair as he walked away from the Autobot High Council’s building. No amount of debating and arguing and shouting had convinced them of how wrong they were to speak against Optimus. In the end they had dismissed Ratchet after giving him his new duty.

“It will be good for you to get out for a while, Ratchet.”

“It’s not good for you to dwell in the past, Ratchet.”

“Clear your mind, Ratchet.”

‘Get out’ was what they had meant as they handed Ratchet the datapad that explained he was essentially going to become a bounty hunter for the ‘Autobots’.

They didn’t deserve to call themselves that.

And with each newly forged mech Ratchet passed who didn’t comprehend the meaning behind the Autobot Brand they wore, and every neutral who had adopted it and wore it despite having refused it when Optimus had called upon them for support, and every occasional true Autobot who seemed to have accepted this twisted mockery of a fate, Ratchet’s spark burned all the hotter.

Every flash of red of those Autobot brands made Ratchet want to scream.

Optimus was dead! Optimus had died for them! Yet they did not mourn for their savior!

Ratchet wasn’t sure how he had gotten back to the hovel he called a home, or when he had started to scour his plating with his strongest chemical he had in his supplies.

But he did know that looking down at his Autobot brand to see it was stripped down to a deathly gray felt like a release.

And then he was scrubbing the rest of his frame, fast and hard enough to hurt as he left nothing in his wake, until every fleck of paint and natural color nanite beneath was gone and dead.

It was only when his whole frame, from top to bottom, looked lifeless and burned with pain that Ratchet began to paint.

Black.

It had been a color the humans had associated with mourning and Ratchet could understand why now.

No more colors, no more Autobot red, none of it.

Ratchet was alone and dying on the inside with each passing day because Optimus wanted to save a Cybertron that hadn’t deserved him.

And every mecha who dared to look at Ratchet needed to know that.

They needed to know what they had taken from him.

And what he could take back from them.

What he  _would_ take back from them.

Ratchet’s spark felt as if it was bursting in his chest as he laughed, manic and bitter.

The true Autobots wouldn’t just be shoved into the darkness as these new forged and neutrals and the High Council reaped the bounty of their war. Ratchet hadn’t been the first to be cast out, and he would not be the last, but the High Council was full of fools if they believed the true Autobots couldn’t still gather together. They could be spread across the universe, but still they would come together if called, ready to band together and  _fight_.

This was  _their_ Cybertron.

And it didn’t take any time at all for Ratchet to whip up his old synth-en recipe and shove it into his line. He needed the strength to start this war. To gather his troops and prepare them for the war ahead.

Ratchet would see to it that Cybertron properly mourned their savior.

Or they would see Cybertron burn.


End file.
